


of lesser evils (and winter flowers)

by damnneovelvet



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bloodletting, Eventual Happy Ending, Experiment Fic, Imprisonment, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Character Death, Royalty, exorcist mark, intentional lapslock, mentioned exorcism, vampire Donghyuck, widower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25308412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnneovelvet/pseuds/damnneovelvet
Summary: it is more than enough to know that maxims can be falsified and that the smallest of flowers can bloom even where soil is scarce.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 24
Kudos: 62





	of lesser evils (and winter flowers)

**Author's Note:**

> tw : it's short but don't read if you have any triggers.  
> blood, pain, imprisonment, death, hinted sadism (not mh).
> 
> i've mostly stuck to fictional depictions as reference and avoided any likening to real life beliefs since this is a vampire fantasy :D  
> this is an experiment fic. i would love to hear your thoughts about it, so that i can count those towards the questions i wish to ask, mostly because something recently piqued my curiosity. many thanks to sheminion for looking into it. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy reading!

the last of mark's tears are blown away by a strong gust of wind. past fluttering eyelashes -- laden with dust -- he catches a glimpse of her headstone, flowers without petals growing where the rot of a skeleton lies. the wreath he placed there mere minutes ago tumbles elsewhere, crossing many other forgotten graves.

she's gone. mark's sweet little wife has been gone for years but her broken voice still haunts him at night. he wakes up in the throes of nightmares, to a cold bed and sweat beading on his forehead. memories of her final days stir in his head as shrill screams echo off the walls, his own sometimes, the ghost of her death's sometimes. even then, the walls seem lonely with how much time he pours into rolling sacred verses on his tongue. there is no home left for him to go back to.

this will be the last time he can visit her before the castle church sends for him. it's daunting. it's all he ever used to dream of. but now, he thinks moving uphill is the first step on the staircase leading to heaven.

//

the ceiling of stained glass has become ever-familiar. depictions of divinity shine upon the convened, shedding coloured light onto white robes worn by higher ministers. it paints them alight in colours that have no part in their lives. how unfair it is, to be lit up when there is no appreciation for art. 

mark stands amongst his order -- robed in the deepest of blacks -- staring at the altar where the crown prince has started to entice his audience with plans to allow the church greater ruling.

the royal family is, first and foremost, peasants at the feet of god. 

mark was baffled when he heard it, but the crown prince himself had spoken it with gusto, kneeling in front of the church doors with a dangerous spark in his eyes. the church ministers take full advantage of his devotion and make requests that never satiate their thirst. the prince in turn, strings the ministers like marionettes and makes them dance to devilish tunes, all in the name of the lord of course. 

mark sighs, hiding behind the chief exorcist's figure. being a scholar should have meant unlimited time in libraries with documents no other in the kingdom is allowed to touch. while that stands true, being a scholar also means attending every benediction, every prayer at dawn and answering every summons of the holy royal court. six months have passed and mark feels worn. 

he doesn't like to meet eyes with silver-haired elders for each of them is fast to ask what it felt like to have lived and sinned with the devil itself. he bites his tongue, the taste of copper tainting his teeth, and bows to beg for feigned forgiveness. 

he has carried the shell of a heart in his chest too long for it to shiver when it's denied any form of existence. it beats unaffected.

there should have been a new world in knowledge, waiting to take him with open arms, to take him away from a world that keeps reminding him of all things wrong and unjust.

his wife had been lovely when she had breathed. she had been the kindest woman to ever build a house and yet, every fragment of her memory is now a reflection of life steeped heavily in sin. it remains a fact that the devil found home in the mounds of her flesh. but she had never been wrong. she had only been unfortunate. but those too absorbed in chasing power and greed would never know what it feels like to be wronged so horribly even in death. 

he prays every night for her to have found peace. with every passing day, he has forgotten her touch and he finds solace in the fact that nothing keeps her tied to this realm of pain any longer. all bonds shall be dissolved for her to take flight, even if priesthood says mark's prayers are fit only for curing the cursed.

the men in front of him -- straightened backs and condescending eyes -- all deserve to burn in the pits of hell.

//

clarity settles in with another month spent trawling through dusty tomes hidden in the darkest crevices. these bookshelves, never loved albeit never forgotten, are mark's refuge. 

there is no act of redemption great enough in human eyes. he will be one of the condemned till the end of eternity.

many nights are spent hiding behind lounge chairs till the moon disappears behind a brightening sky. one moonless night, a chambermaid, red in the face and trembling, asks him to maintain caution if he wishes to wander the hallways at such an inopportune time. she scurries towards the kitchen before mark can open his mouth. once he has put down his books, he recognises her to be one amongst many of the high prince's attendants. 

there are secrets the holy royalty keep from their priests. there are about a million rumors down in the villages about a mother who gave birth to an abomination, and a million more here amongst the scullery -- all about a child locked away for good. 

mark roams around the hallways with a lit candelabra in hand. he walks past the open concourse, magnetically drawn to the doors of a tower.

the tower itself stands tall and rigid, built of old grey stone. the hefty wooden door creaks open with a single touch to the handle. mark sucks in a breath. the air is musty, the mildest tinge of metal swirling through that of freshly cut grass. as he steps in, all the candles extinguish and he is greeted by sudden darkness. he jumps out of his skin as the door snaps shut behind. there is no way out, he thinks as he latches onto the silver cross hung around his neck, there really is no way to avoid the evil in this place.

carefully, he feels around for support. he finds the stairs and carefully starts climbing. the stone seems to be crumbling in places, the steps too gritty and the walls too rough.

the moment he starts chanting spells for safety, an anguished cry rips through the silence.

//

in the distance the church bells toll, once, just once.

in the periphery of his vision, he sees a starry sky. a large window stands looking over the courtyard. it is difficult to ascertain from a distance but it looks there are metal bars embedded into the stone. 

mark climbs the last step and comes face to face with the physique of an angel. 

there is no halo in sight, neither does he have wings but the expanse of his neck presents itself to mark, smooth and silken. he is exquisite in the slickness of his body; a thin silk negligee clings to the bends of his body, presenting him like the effigy of a masterful foreign god. 

he can't see his face with beautiful hair casting shadows across and cascading past the small of his back in loose ringlets. it reminds mark of his hometown, of the people there who fashioned their hair in the most loveliest way, of his wife with lovely waves and of his mother whose hair lightened into the colour of sunshine with age. the boy stirs, trying to lift his head but convulses like a patient of palsy. a sound accompanies his movements and it's then that mark notices.

long metal chains run from the walls ending in clasps on his wrists and ankles, berating him beyond verbal possibilities. the chains clang against themselves as he lifts his hands weakly. dim light from the castle grounds illuminates him; mark wishes the moon were out today, to cast a delightful glow on the figure. he walks closer and sits next to the prisoner, whose eyes stay scrunched, as if in pain, and with his lips parted, short breaths heaving. he seems to be suffering and the proximity has only worsened it. belatedly, mark realises it must be the cross he wears. he pulls it over his head and slides it across the floor, towards the stairs. 

he sets down the candle holder and shuffles through his robes for the matchbox he nicked along. soon, a warm glow fills the circular chamber.

the prisoner -- and it feels like injustice to call him that -- is golden. his hair and skin, all of it looks like he was blessed by the sun itself, burnished with everything bronze. the sweat on his cheekbones shimmers like flames. if he truly is an angel, then he must have fallen to be kept in such captivity. 

"hah...help…" he whispers, biting his lower lip, breaking skin. he gasps for breath again, and this time, light glints off of his teeth.

he has fangs.

//

mark kneels back, the ground digging into his knees painfully, as he nurses the fresh puncture wounds on his wrist. 

"thank you," the vampire says gently, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. his lips drench in a scrupulous red, plush to the touch and soft in their ministrations.

"are you imprisoned?" mark asks, fingers wet. 

the bleeding hasn't stopped yet, inviting the other's famished gaze. he raises it to the bloodsucking mouth again and immediately, the reddened tongue darts out to lap at the remains. it takes about a minute before the skin stitches back into a patch of light pink. mark's own fingers tremble with the effort to keep excitement at bay but the lushness of the touch works bigger wonders than the toxins of his teeth.

who would have known, of all the macabre possibilities, the secret of the royal house is a creature born to terrorise the woods after dark. a vampire held captive.

a _gorgeous_ vampire held captive

"did you commit a crime?" mark asks this time, moving away from the other. all vampire settlements are acres away from human civilisation. it is confounding to find one within bounds. 

the last time mark had seen one was when he had been freshly christened as an exorcist, and his mentor had led him by the hand to the centre of a sacred conflagration that burnt everything but them. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the fire, can still hear the demons screaming and the trees being charred to leave behind an clearing filled only with ashes.

"no, i'm no criminal, just unfortunate," he rasps, running his tongue over darkened lips slowly.

"then why are you here?" there is no end to mark's questions, not when there is such mystery splayed in front of him.

the stranger smiles, pointed teeth peeking past his upper lip.

"my name is donghyuck, youngest child of your holy king." 

//

prince donghyuck, or as he wishes to be called, physician donghyuck, is the monstrosity that endangers a sacred reign. 

"they're all for using the lord's name in vain, and i was forsaken before i could open my eyes," he whispers, "do you not see, sir, who the real monsters are?"

"i do, and don't you worry, they will rot in purgatory."

mark wipes his chin with the hem of his own robes. once donghyuck's begin to flutter closed, he props his head carefully against the wall. he's still half man. he still has a quivering soul.

the night wanes faster than any other and the morning finds mark perched at the library window, perusing yellowed pages that illustrate half demons. if the earlier scholars were right, donghyuck has the gift of age and the curse of an impending death, just like every other human. he will continue to bend to the whims of the earth as long as he graces the world. but for how long? 

he grabs ahold of an auxiliary maid, one who works in the younger prince's chambers, and confesses to his nighttime wandering sans his own attractions.

she breaks down into tears, mark's arms holding up her soft figure as her knees shake in grief. it is in the benefit of public welfare to withhold knowledge of donghyuck's existence. he is sweet, so sweet and witty with blessing from all gods that circle the sun. and yet, he suffers. he is chained a day before the new moon and released only when his thirst for blood has been quenched. 

the night mark found him, the guards sent in a scared young girl. he is a gentleman and integrity keeps him from touching young maidens and children.

mark brushes a hand through her hair as she gathers herself, fingers rubbing at her swollen face. he thanks her, and she thanks him, her fondness for the prince obvious to anyone with eyes.

//

mark is but a lowly member of the church. he lacks the gumption to seek out dignitaries and ask for their time, and donghyuck happens to be both, the youngest prince and a member of the court of physicians. he neither has reason nor does he have an excuse to find him. in the eyes of commoners, the vampire doesn't exist. if it hadn't been for the encounter a moonless night ago, he would have never known of his existence either.

but he wants to see donghyuck. his blood, thickened with ostensible devotion, touches every crevice of that golden body. if anything, he wants to see him in a state more than tattered. he wants to see him alive.

a week after the second time he climbs the tower, fate unravels.

it isn't fortuitous by any means, it is carefully timed because mark is the last to leave the hall most days and to catch him leaving, one must have been observing his schedule for days. donghyuck stands at a distance from the prayer hall, cheeks rounded and red, hair pulled into a lovely braid with small peonies adorning it.

he shines. shines brighter than anything within view, than anything that could exist here, above or even down below. his skin, covered in silk yet again, peeks out like water offered to a parched man, ready to be drunk. mark takes in a deep breath and walks closer. during the day, his cross and bible don't seem to send donghyuck writhing in pain.

mark steps even closer, the scent of sweet nobility invading the air. or maybe it's just him who stands with kindness seeped into the core of his bones.

the younger bats his eyelashes, glittery under the sunlight, and extends his hands. a small assortment of flowers. from his personal gardens. for mark. he's alive. donghyuck lives and breathes air, unchained, like a man worth his weight in gold, with polished shoes and jewels in his ears. that is enough. 

it is more than enough to know that maxims can be falsified and that the smallest of flowers can bloom even where soil is scarce.

he accepts the flowers, careful not to touch his fingers, and graces the prince with an unforgettable smile.

//

the next new moon brings a sermon at dusk for purification, and mark's heart stills at the thought of donghyuck being forced to suffer as prayers are chorused. the crown prince stands at the head of the altar, and if this isn't sabotage, it couldn't be anything else. he ought to know that his brother -- albeit half his flesh -- lies in wait for a night of solitude.

he's never done this before, has never dared to because the repercussions might be too severe to handle, but he locks eyes with the chief exorcist who nods at him, and then mark slips past the door. 

within minutes, he has hot wax dripping onto the floor behind him and feet rushing towards the forbidden chamber.

a splatter of blood leads him to donghyuck's sleeping figure, body twisted in an uncomfortable angle. there is a trail of crimson on his cheek and a puddle of water where a metal glass has tumbled over.

mark tiptoes to clean him up with starlight catching in his eyes.

//

later that season, donghyuck catches up to him as he crosses the council room, bag of tools hung on one shoulder. beyond the hallways, summer has started to leave. cool winds rush into the castle uninvited and the grass turns a pale yellow as all life seeps out of the land.

mark doesn't know how there are no rumors doing the rounds yet, of a lecherous priest lusting after an ill-fated prince. there are none, and it eases his heart. 

the younger's hair has been cut short, just grazing the tips of his ears in smooth bronzed curls. 

"it was too much weight on my shoulders, metaphorically and literally," he says when mark mentions it, fingers playing with the hair falling onto his forehead. 

mark feels a small part of his heart break. donghyuck is warmth, he is everything he is not supposed to be, but he is no longer a reminder of what mark once had. then again, it is selfish to project his desires onto him. the audacity to dream of finding home in the embrace of a royal could very well lead him under the blade of a guillotine. 

they talk as they often do -- of sweet nothings -- to forget the tinge of sadness that permeates the air. with winter comes memories of those who have fallen. 

"did you know, i have a garden of my own," donghyuck says as they reach the courtyard -- they have to part. his favourite maid looks at them then turns on her heels with a blush sitting high on her cheeks. 

"isn't that where you gather assortments for me, my lord?"

"yes, but i also have flowers that bloom only when it snows. they shine just like your blood, young sir. i want to share them."

mark sucks in a breath, then offers an upturned palm, "promise me? that you'll bring them?" it is foolish, very foolish to let the rapid beating of his heart sway him. 

a tanned finger links with his, then another, until their skins stick together with the heat of all things sinful.

"i promise."

//

it becomes ritual for mark to visit donghyuck in his imprisonment every moon cycle. he brings along blankets to counter the frigid temperatures and water in a large container. 

on days that donghyuck refuses to feed from civilians, mark offers his wrist. even as the skin heals overnight, if he looks carefully, two dark spots are becoming visible. donghyuck always thanks him for his kindness, assures that mark is safe for helping him and is pleasant change of company. 

there's only so much silence they foster before it breaks. once they start, they converse about everything possible without stop. 

donghyuck tells him about each member of his attending staff, beloved and kind. he talks about the various people he meets, the things they bring and their mannerisms. he finds happiness in the smallest of things because bigger joys are too sporadic to wait for. he talks about the people he has treated and the smile they share with him before they leave, hale and hearty.

mark often recounts his journeys as a young learner, rosary in one hand and vials of holy water in the other. he tells him of his greatest feats, of how pedantic one has to be while facing powers much evil than anything that can be found on earth. he is trained to kill the likes of donghyuck, but he would never betray his only saving grace. 

eventually, a season later as summer comes to a close, mark speaks of his deceased wife.

"they say she slept with the devil and he overtook her body. that morning i left her in the garden, and when i came back at night, all her skin was grey and her eyes shone red." 

"did the devil kill her?" a lithe hand holds onto mark's, cool metal and hot skin.

"i was forced to do the exorcism. her body wasn't strong enough to survive." his fingers play gently with a bejewelled ear. the shorter hair has grown on him, the feel of it like the rarest feathers, the look of it unparalleled.

"do you still love her?"

"i was fond of her then, we were betrothed at the church," he says, prodding at donghyuck's clean nails, "but i feel more sadness than love that she died so young, and a lot of anger, that everybody thinks she deserved it."

donghyuck siddles up to mark, leaning his head against a sturdy shoulder, "do you still miss her?"

"not anymore, there is nothing left in trying to keep one here when they have moved on," he whispers, "do you have any such people?" 

"they say my mother was hung onto a wooden stake and burnt till her screams echoed into the smallest of villages. they accused her of seducing the king when he was the one who made promises of loving her."

"i'm sorry."

"you shouldn't be, the king is on his deathbed and the crown prince is insane, this kingdom will fall without me needing to lift a finger."

mark moves to rub circles on a spot below the younger's jaw. he wonders what it would taste like if he could bite into the softness. he wonders if it would be able to take away the dullness in donghyuck's eyes.

"how have you been keeping alive for so long?"

"regular blood and my human side. when my darker side comes to face, i treat it with sin. sometimes i eat too much and sometimes i slept with a man," he says, "then i was put under orders to stay here and make do with only blood. now, nobody in the castle is willing to touch me, too afraid to be diseased. they won't kill me in a simple manner, they will starve me of humanity whenever i become a monster, so that someday, i can no longer turn human again."

//

"attachment to an uncouth spirit is always unruly, one beyond the understanding of our realm. and often, they are found to be unbreakable." the chief of their sectarian division, high exorcist taeyong, states one evening. the two of them are the last ones in the dining hall. he swirls alcohol in a glass, the colour of amber and the taste of embers, as he looks right into mark's eyes.

"those are a lot of words, sir," he replies, fingers bunching up the black of his garments.

"true, and yet you understand exactly what i mean. tread carefully is all i ask, your fate may be grand, young mark, and being cautious has never done anybody wrong."

mark picks up his own glass and empties it one gulp. so the chief knows he is fond of the castle's hidden vampire. how much does he know? does he know that it is mark's blood in the prince's veins most months? does he know mark's heart fills with delighted words that remain unspoken? taeyong knows enough, he surmises at last, to give a fair caveat.

"i won't ask you to keep away. the matters of the heart...they aren't ruled by a singular deity, but they can be swayed by a singular demon," taeyong continues, face expressionless, "the presence of a demon does not mean the absence of a god, they both remain. your demon," -- he gestures vaguely to his mouth -- "is one for all or nothing. are you willing to appease him?"

mark swallows thickly, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind, "i am, i am more than willing."

there is prudence in his character, and then there is an insistent reticence in his bones, but one look at donghyuck's eyes...and all grand plans of worldly ignorance are licked through by blazing fires till they no longer exist.

"then so be it," taeyong finally smiles, a rare thing, so beautiful and pristine. "love whoever you have to, be it a ghost."

//

donghyuck flushes a beautiful pink every time they run into each other. in his confinement room, the redness stays because of the exhilaration of feeding and outside, if it isn't the same reason mark fumbles whenever their gazes meet, maybe it's the underlying chill in the air.

where once time crawled, now it flies. the coronation arrives -- an apotheosis of the crown prince -- and every hand in the castle is busy with preparations. lilies are brought in massive baskets and candles are fashioned every hour. the floors are fumigated to smell like fresh earth. the gates will open to the public once the main event is over, and because of that the entire kitchen is overturned. most importantly, bards have travelled across lands to join the choir that will sing to be showered in blessings. 

the night before the grand event, mark heads back to his quarters to read through his mentor's compendium. he finds a letter on his bed. 

the banquet will be joyous, but there will be hymns sung meant for purification. it seems to be in ill-founded intentions that a coronation comprise more requests of destruction than those of successful endeavours. as everything will erupt in targeted harmony -- is it really in good faith if the desired result is ruin? -- donghyuck will have to be bound.

//

"is your brother unaware?" mark asks, leafing through the guide taeyong loaned him. two hours left till the ceremony starts.

"an incident left him behaving like a madman, he's made life hell for us siblings since, our sisters have already fled, and only i remain," donghyuck answers. he falls onto his bed, bouncing on cushion. 

"he does this to dispose of you."

"he does this because someone else's pain brings him infinite pleasure, beware if you ever meet eyes with him, he will chew your bones."

"for why does he have to do this to you?"

donghyuck sighs then lifts his head, elbows digging into the stack of blankets beneath him. mark looks at him, forlorn.

"i told you, they won't be pleased with a simple death. they will keep me a monster because my humanity threatens to crush theirs," he says, barely audible. he falls onto his back once again and covers his eyes with an arm. beyond the window, the sun heads towards the highest spot in the sky. mark draws the thick curtains closed, drowning the room in darkness. 

all his life, donghyuck has known nothing but the searing pain of being put into a bind. if he closes his eyes, he can feel his ankles being held immobile till he fears the loss of his feet as his wrists are chained. there are scars on his torso from nights he went feral, blinded by the severity of pain. even if he is put into a bind, his head would still split with how terrifyingly his soul would shake. he only hopes that mark will keep him safe.

"i refuse to bind you," mark announces to his surprise, glimpses of scarred wrists in the older's vision, "but i can subdue you."

"subdue me?"

"i can...sedate you, let your soul hibernate. if you don't feel anything, it will not hurt, or so i believe."

"and how will you do this?" 

mark walks to hover over donghyuck, foreheads close and eyes flitting to look at every inch of the younger's face, "are you afraid of being touched, donghyuck?" he asks.

"if it's you, never."

careful lips brush over donghyuck's and start chanting.

//

fingers pull donghyuck open and plunge in, deep, till his voice breaks.

there is selfishness in the way mark mouths at his honeyed skin, leaving red and pink blemishes on the expanse of his stomach. donghyuck is carnal desire wrapped in humane skin, just for him, just for his eyes to feast on in this moment. his body exudes want in the purest form, slick and smooth to the touch. in the haze, he nearly forgets to finish murmuring protective spells whenever soft thighs rub against his waist. 

mark runs his hands along the length of donghyuck's arm, stopping at his wrists and holding him in place as he pushes into the younger, lips shaping the words to a verse.

his name spills from donghyuck's swollen mouth like pearls spilling into the chalice of life. mark is reborn between their flesh, reshaped into a person who knows ecstasy intimately, relearning what it feels like to be this close to another and donghyuck screams, fingers digging into the pale back as he trembles. 

he pushes through, again and again, feeling rejuvenated with every scream that rips out of donghyuck's blessed throat, till only obscenity fills the room.

mark stops abruptly the moment he feels filled to brim with heat, sparking and ready to set aflame anything that is willing to burst. he stays inside donghyuck, gyrating and licking past his lips, tongue wetting tongue, as he oils his fingers to spread himself open. once he is overwhelmed by the stimulation, he pulls out and lines up to sink onto donghyuck's erection.

to give and to be given; to take and to be taken.

donghyuck's eyes fly open at the new sensation, and he is greeted by the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. mark lifts himself slowly, then drops again, only to hold back a whine because he needs to finish speaking, even if in murmurs. 

donghyuck's insides tighten into a singular feeling of pleasure, white hot and it feels like he's never felt before. he gasps, mouth open and wet as mark kisses him again, lips sliding along to tug at his own. mark traces shapes -- runes -- into his heated skin, sprinkling him with short-lived bursts of energy. he is drained of all senses, the last donghyuck feels is hair between his fingers, and doesn't realise when he spills inside mark. 

everything fades away, mark's blissed out expression burnt onto his eyelids as he succumbs to the sudden weight pulling his consciousness away. 

//

when donghyuck stirs awake, all sounds are gone, as if underwater. he takes in a deep breath -- chest hurting as it expands -- and sighs. slowly, sound starts trickling into his ears, and the first thing he recognises is mark's voice, humming a slow tune by his feet.

mark sits at the edge of the bed, smiling serenely. 

he shuffles over to pour donghyuck a glass of water and informs him that the night has long passed and so has the next morning. the ceremony has ended, without disturbing his soul in its dormancy.

in that moment, donghyuck has an epiphany -- he is falling, faster than he had ever imagined. his penchant for closeness is answered every day, by this man and this man alone. he feels treasured, cared for. the lethargy they say weighs his skeleton happens to disappear into the void whenever mark as much as speaks to him about monotonous days. mark is willing to put everything on the line to keep donghyuck safe, all propositions of asceticism left to eat dirt. 

mark is a man of faith, and so is donghyuck, and between the two of them, their benefactor sheds blinding light.

any words of gratitude fall short and donghyuck may not know how to articulate the warmth spreading in his chest, he knows touching mark is within his rights. he pulls the man closer and cups his face, dropping a chaste kiss on his soft lips.

//

many days are passed rolling in the cotton of mark's bedsheets and many more are spent stealing glances in the courtyard. 

moonless nights are still special -- donghyuck drinks his blood like it's ambrosia and mark spends the night cushioning his head against his own thighs. confinement has always been fearsome, but one night it comes to an end. no guards show up at his door.

with the crown heavy on his head, the new king bids farewell to his father's corpse. the kingdom sheds tears while the church ministers lie in wait of their own impending doom. greed is a cardinal sin, and they seem to have forgotten the fact. the heavens cry, torrential rain beating down every surface, but the king stands with his manic forehead towards the sun. it doesn't bother donghyuck anymore, not when his brother seems to have forgotten that he cages a monster. donghyuck is free at the cost of a reign.

it isn't bothersome however, because mark truly believes that karmic retribution will sink her fangs into the neck of every cruelty. 

life continues slow and then it continues blossoming. there are days mark sits in the confessional, apologetic that he has fallen in love with someone when he had promised to love his wife even in death. life has to carry on for those still privy to it. and heart in heart, he knows that she must be grateful that he has found a reason to breathe again. 

he wonders if he should feel guilty for losing all coherence to a vampire, but taeyong reminds him that his dedication is all that matters.

nothing can be helped now though, for he finds devotion in the way donghyuck melts under his fingers and warmth in the sound of tinkling laughter.

//

the snow brings changes unfathomed. 

the first morning the grounds are blanketed in thick white, donghyuck forfeits his birth title. it's what has already brought him a lifetime of misery, he doesn't want more.

perhaps a tale of love sounds more fascinating when it pertains to a vampire prince and an exorcist, but it would be a tale weeping of forbidden love. mark doesn't have much to say, except that he wants a love everlasting and as pretty as the stars decorating donghyuck's skin. nobody can object a physician falling for a scholar and that's where they find solace.

that evening, donghyuck finds mark at the chapel's doorstep, bells chiming and birds flying as the sky turns violet. he holds out a small bouquet, as crimson as their bleeding hearts, and reminds his lover of a promise from when the days were longer. mark pulls him into a searing kiss, mouths languid and minds at ease.

perhaps matrimony between two men will remain condemned forever and their love will have to stay hidden behind walls, perhaps...their union challenges a hundred platitudes. 

but now it's only donghyuck for mark, and only mark for donghyuck -- all pasts gifted to oblivion in the form of memories and a shared future scribbled into fate. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> now that you're at the end of this fic, if you wish to, please participate. no answer comments will be posted (any other comments are also welcome :D). i hope i can get a variety of responses over time.
> 
> please answer these questions in a CLEAR and HONEST but KIND manner. any outright hate will be reported.
> 
> 1\. would you read a plot about spidermark stealing kittens during the day in this writing style? (yes/no)  
> 2\. if you could rewrite this, what writing style would you pick? do you think it would make a difference to the tone?  
> 3\. did you feel like you couldn't read further because of the long sentences/words at any point? (please specify native language, then answer yes/no only)  
> 
> 
> i'm thankful if you read this work (wow), or any other i've written this year (heartfelt wow). i might not churn out great content at a pleasing pace because of how intensive uni can get, but any form of feedback to my work makes me feel like posting here is worth it. 
> 
> stay safe and have a great day ♡ thank you once again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [let your crown fall (and hit the floor)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26524744) by [damnneovelvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnneovelvet/pseuds/damnneovelvet)




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